


cRUNCH.

by nakajimagardenar



Series: The One Where You Do Giant Alien Robots [9]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Consensual Gore, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, F/M, Fluff, Gore, I MEAN I GUESS YOU EVENTUALLY SUCCUMB, I WANT THE GIANT ROBOT BEETLE TO EAT ME, M/M, NON LETHAL VORE, Reader Has No Defined Parts, Reader has no defined gender, Smut, THIS IS 100 PERCENT ALL ME AND MY KINKS, THIS IS SO MESSED UP AND THIS ISN'T A REQUEST, Vore, Xenophilia, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakajimagardenar/pseuds/nakajimagardenar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You love him, and all you've ever wanted is to be a part of him - Well you know what they say, the fastest way to a mech's spark is through his trilithium stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cRUNCH.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: Eye trauma and consensual gore are the number one reasons I can never get laid (that, and I am a raging ace). ; - )))

It takes you longer than you would have liked, almost too long that all things coming close to coherence and restraint have long since been drained from your conscious mind. Which might have been why you could so easily smile despite what little of who you once were remained (and it isn’t very much at all, that’s for sure).

You make a sound, something close to a strained sigh, and you catch his attention with almost no effort at all. “Please,” You pause, swallowing thickly. Your mouth is dry, and it tastes of blood and rust. “Please, I want - ” What do you want? You swallow for a second time, pushing down the hesitation that flourished under his gaze.

No, you’ve come so far, too far to stop, and you know that if you do, you won’t have the chance to ask again. As you are now, you won’t be able to ask for anything at all. You reach up, raising your one still functioning hand, cupping your palm against an eye.

“Please, I want you to eat my eye.”

You’re trembling, both with excitement and something that once probably resembled real fear, but only feels like a quiet discomfort now. He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised at your request, and the smile he gives you is almost unkind. But that’s impossible, because he wants you, and you want him, you want this. You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you…?

Your breath hitches when you feel that all too familiar feeling of wet, warm metal pressed against your eyelid, and you can’t help but lean up into his touch. The air smells of ozone, cackling almost imperceptibly as you relax at his ministrations, glossa trailing lazy circles around the rim of your eyesocket.

You’re completely unprepared when he tilts your head back and sinks unforgiving teeth into the soft muscle. Red splashes across your vision, and pain - Oh god, the pain, the pain -

It feels like heat and fire, burning all the way to the back of your brain and down what’s left of your legs. The world bursts into pitch black when his teeth cuts through soft, boneless tissue, and a sudden rush of blood dribbles out from torn flesh, the Insecticon lapping at the steady drip of warm blood that threatens to spill all over you.

You can’t stop the pathetic noises escaping your parted lips, “Hush, hush.” You can’t possibly see his smile, but you can feel it, and you dig your fingers (the ones still there, the ones that work) into whatever surface you can reach.

You hear the tell-tale sound of him swallowing, and something hot builds up between your legs, impossible to miss even with the massive throbbing in your now empty eye socket. He digs his glossa into the hollow space, wrestling a howl of anguish out of you when he licks the gorey aftermath of his work, withdrawing with a mouthful of ripped tissue and chipped fragments of bone. He swallows slowly, licking his lips, optics trained on you.

At this point you can no longer tell whether the wetness trickling down from between your legs is the result of gracelessly wetting yourself, or if the act of being oh so slowly consumed had pushed you into getting off completely. Neither outcome sounded very pleasant.

“Shall I eat the other one too, too? Or maybe - ”

Your stomach is rumbling again, and Shrapnel smiles.

“Maybe I should let you eat it instead, instead.”

**Author's Note:**

> If there's anything I like as much as combiner harems and doll play, it's Insecticons and consensual vore. ( U v U )* Anyway, send me your scandalized reactions and drabble prompts (Transformers or Undertale) over at http://muffetsofficial.tumblr.com/ !!


End file.
